Better Than Me
by SingularToast
Summary: Puck and Rachel pushed each other away years ago, but have regretted it ever since. Written for my Secret Santa, katiebeth26 @ LJ!


The Winter holiday season was upon them, and though she didn't celebrate the same holiday as her friends she still enjoyed the spirit and found that any reason to visit friends and family was a good reason indeed. That was why she had a plane ticket organised, the details for that and the return flight in her email inbox, and a long checklist of things she would need and need to do before she left for Ohio later that month stuck to her fridge.

Her old friends, the Glee clubbers from her high school, were planning a reunion of sorts and wanted their brightest star to return from New York to come see them. They had all matured greatly since school finished, and Rachel could honestly say that she'd never had greater friends than the ones she found in Quinn and Kurt. The three had kept in touch, through email, texts, calls, and sometimes managed to meet when the time was right and catch up with everything that been happening in their lives since school finished.

The last time they met, when the two had flown over to New York to watch as Rachel wowed the stage in her effortless and spectacular rendition of Elphaba, was when Quinn and Kurt had first started telling her of the Christmas party they wanted to throw. It was supposed to be for the middle of December, so they could all celebrate as a group before Mike and Tina flew away for their honeymoon, but Rachel couldn't make it. They were sad, and berated her for over an hour trying to figure out a way to convince her that she needed to leave her show early and come see them, but she refused – and the two of them understood why. Rachel never let anything stand in the way of her dreams, and now that she had finally made it to Broadway in one of the most coveted roles of their time, she wasn't about to throw it all away for a trip back to her hometown. But she promised that in the week leading up to Christmas Day, she would fly back and see them all.

All. Her gut twisted at that thought, and Kurt – ever observant – asked if she was comfortable with that. Plastering a convincing, if over-bright smile on her face, Rachel assured them that she was fine and that she couldn't wait until the nineteenth, which was when she planned to fly out.

But later that night, after she had driven the two of them back to the airport for their flight home, Rachel found herself digging an old shoebox out from the back of her closet and searching through the many trinkets and items there for one particular photo. She traced a finger against the glossy finish, recalling the day it was taken and the events leading up to that very moment, and sighed.

Quinn's words filtered through her mind. They had been walking away from her apartment block toward her favourite café to have a quick lunch and drink, but the blonde girl had told Kurt to go on, to find them a table at the busy café and order them a couple of coffees – no sugar! – before drawing her aside.

"Rachel," she'd said in a low voice. She'd noticed the far-away look on her friend's face when they had spoke about her returning to Lima, and it didn't take a genius to understand why she hesitated before eagerly organising the trip details. "Have you spoken to him? At all?"

Biting her lip, Rachel's gaze dropped to the ground. Her mind whirled, recalling the very last time she had seen him and spoken to him before she'd packed up and left for New York, and she shook her head. "Not once," she'd whispered, hating herself for the way her heart clenched at the thought.

"You should. Rachel, he's ... you made the wrong decision, and he's—"

"I have a table!" Kurt's voice drifted over to them, and the two girls looked up to see him waving madly for them to come join him. Glad to have a distraction, a way to end this conversation before it had really started, Rachel turned to walk into the café.

"Rachel, wait!" Quinn insisted, sliding a hand around the other girl's wrist and drawing her back, making Rachel look up and meet her gaze. The blonde's eyes were sad, confused, and she said, "How can you act like this? It was your decision, and here you are, all ..."

"All what, Quinn?" Rachel asked, her voice sounding tired. "So I regret it, so what? I don't doubt that you regret what you did to him too."

Quinn instantly dropped her hand at that comment, hurt flashing across her face. No one spoke to her about the situation with Beth anymore, because they knew how much it pained her. It was a time in her life she would never forget, but one that she wanted to put behind her. It was easier that way, because otherwise everything just hurt too much. "That was different," she said through gritted teeth. "We had a ... a _situation_ between us, and it wasn't something we would ever have been able to deal with. You on the other hand, you were just—"

"Selfish?" Rachel stared straight at her, daring her friend to deny it. She had been selfish, and she kicked herself daily for that. She had always looked out for herself, had always done anything she could to secure her dreams first, leaving everything behind that could possibly hold her back. That was her downfall. "I can't change it now Quinn, and I just want to forget it. You know that, why bring it up now?"

Watching her friend closely, Quinn thought over everything she knew, every piece of information she had been fed in the last few weeks alone, and couldn't decide what to do. She only knew that something had to be done, because she and he were far too miserable to keep things as they were. "No, you're right. Let's just drop it. Kurt's looking at us like we've grown horns. Come on."

Her thoughts returning to the present, Rachel put down the photo and looked at the rest of the box's contents. A year's worth of memories, that's all she had left. Movie tickets, photos, notes, a birthday card, and a tiny little teddy with an embroidered gold star on its stomach. That's all that was left of the happiest year of her life.

Shaking her head, feeling angry at allowing herself the luxury of wallowing, she picked up the photo, stuffed it back into the shoebox and dropped the lid onto, covering up the memories once more. Just as she did with every thought about that time, every flicker of memory that passed through her mind, she picked up the box and put it away, hiding it at the back of her cupboard beside her travel bag and under the rack that held all her summer shoes. Switching off the light and closing her closet door, she backed away from it until her knees hit the edge of her bed, and she sat down with a _thump_.

Quinn was right. It _had_ been her decision, and it had been the right decision. Look at how far she had come! She was lorded in all the magazines, newspapers and gossip blogs as one of the most talented rising stars, an impossibly gifted performer with the entire world at her feet. She was exactly where she wanted to be all along! She had gotten her wish!

But her eyes strayed back to the closet door. She had pushed all those thoughts and memories aside, but had never truly dealt with them, and now that Quinn had dredged them all back up again she didn't know what to do.

She _thought_ she had it all.

She also thought she'd be a lot happier than she was now that she had finally made it.

The phone calls started a couple of days later. Her email and phone inboxes had been filled with surprised and pleased messages from everyone back home when they heard that she was returning. Her fathers had called, ecstatic that their little girl was coming to visit, and she promised to bring everyone back a little piece of New York. Tina excitedly told her that their wedding photos had just come in the mail, so she would be able to see what she had missed out on. Finn's email was about nine paragraphs long, going on and on about how talented his little son was even though he was only two years old, and how young was too young to start singing lessons? A few words were tacked on at the end from Santana, reminding her that as a Godmother she was doing a pretty piss-poor job of helping with their baby, and _oh_ by the way, little Nicholas was expecting a Christmas gift from his Godmother, but she could pretend it was really a late Hanukkah present or something if she wanted. Mercedes told her she had booked her an appointment at her spa, and that the two of them had to catch up over facials and manicures – all on the house of course. Brittany and Artie were busy with something, but Mike sent through a quick text to say that the two of them were looking forward to seeing her again as well. Sam called quickly one afternoon to tell her that Quinn thought she had left her cardigan in Rachel's car, and could she bring back some of that awesome coffee that the little shop down the road sold? He'd already run out.

Finally talking with everyone again, now that they were excited that she was coming back, improved Rachel's mood tenfold. It didn't escape her notice that one person hadn't said a word to her, but apparently it was just her he was ignoring, if the next few phone calls were any indication.

Quinn's call wasn't out of the ordinary. Not at first. She always called her in the evenings either after rehearsal was finished, or before her evening show started. But near the end of the phone call, when both of them were yawning and they sat in a comfortable silence for just a moment, she tentatively asked, "Have you heard from him?"

Tensing, surprised that she would even ask let alone bring up that topic again, Rachel just said, "No." Then ... "Why?"

"We told him, Tina and I, that you were coming back. He ... Rachel, you don't think that he—"

"Not this again, please Quinn? He made it abundantly clear what he thought about the whole situation before I left, and if his silence these last few years has been any indication, he whole-heartedly agrees with my decision to leave. Please just leave it at that." His words, the ones he had spoken in anger, bubbled up from the recesses of her mind, and she tried her hardest to push them down again. In a funny way, those words had pushed her to do better, to prove that the theatre was in fact all she needed. In an odd, ironic kind of way, he had made her better, had made her the star she was today.

She couldn't really find it in her heart to thank him for that though.

"Okay, fine," her friend said, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they fell silent again. But it didn't take long before Quinn piped up once more. "You know he still performs at the pub every weekend?"

Remembering a time when he had bragged that the owner had promised him a weekly gig once he was of age, Rachel couldn't help but smile fondly. "Really?"

"Yes." Back home in Ohio, locked away in the spare room as she listened to Sam watching the nightly news out in the lounge room, Quinn shifted and rolled over onto her side on the spare bed and said casually, "He still sings songs that have particular meaning to him, though he's written a few of his own as well."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, then a tentative, "What does he sing?"

Clearly Rachel hadn't put him behind her as she claimed. Debating as to whether or not she should really confess all, Quinn eventually just shook her head and just said, "Oh, this and that. Some sad songs, some reminiscent songs. The ones he wrote are beautiful. He drew on life experiences I think. Of course, that always makes them better because then the music and words are full of real emotion, right?"

Without outright saying anything, she'd just told Rachel everything she needed to know.

Back in New York, Rachel just nodded silently, letting that information sink in. "He's always been a great performer," she said quietly.

"Yeah, he has."

Eventually the two girls said their goodnights and went to bed, one wondering what the future would hold and the other wondering why her past wouldn't let her go.

A few days later, Tina called. "Rachel!" She practically screamed down the phone. "Oh my god, you're not going to believe it. Mike's mom? Extended out honeymoon! Belated wedding present and everything, she paid for a few extra days! Isn't that great?"

"Tina, that's wonderful! Were you able to organise time off work?" Putting back the slightly unripe mango she had just picked up, Rachel swung the hand basket around and decided that three mangoes really were enough for now. Moving over to the vege section, she listened intently as the Asian girl gushed on about her mother-in-law and how excited she was about the month ahead.

"... and _then_ when you get here we'll have to go out one night, okay? All us girls, we'll go out and get drunk and make absolute fools of ourselves. It'll be like my second Bachelorette party, but this time you'll be there. We should go to the pub." There was a slight pause, and then she said, "We'll be able to get free drunks off Puck! It'll work out great. Then you can see him perform too. Rachel, he's amazing, seriously. You should hear this one song he does, that he wrote himself, about—"

"Tina, I'm so sorry, but I have to go. I'm about to go through the checkout." She panicked, she couldn't help it, but she just really didn't want to hear about him right then, not while she was out and in the open and not safely locked up in her apartment where in the dark of her room she could allow herself a moment to stop pretending that it didn't hurt so much.

"Yeah, me too. See you soon!"

That second phone call had put her off kilter, and when she got back to her apartment that evening she glanced over at the fridge where her itinerary was stuck, and internally debated with herself as to whether or not this was really a good idea after all. If she was honest, the reason she didn't go home as often as she should had nothing to do with the stage and how busy she was. It had everything to do with him. Everything.

It was the third phone call that really put her on edge and made her nervously excited about the trip ahead, but also left her dreading just what would happen when she got there.

"Berry?" Bit out a familiar voice when she answered the phone to an unknown number.

"Santana? Hello! I wasn't expecting to hear from you, how are you?"

"I'm great, yeah, whatever. Finn's just in the family room and I'm just getting this out of the way before those two drunken idiots start throwing their guts up all over the floor. _Then_ I'll have to clean it up without evening getting a little _somethin' something'_ for my efforts." The Latina girl growled on the other end of the line, and Rachel giggled for a moment before her words really started to sink in.

"_Two_ drunken idiots? Who've you got over there tonight?" Even as she asked the question, she wanted to snatch the words back and forget she had ever asked them. Of course she knew who was there. Just because she had left and moved far, far away and uprooted her entire life didn't mean that _everything_ had changed since high school.

"Seriously girl, I'm not going to blame you for what happened because Finn explained it all once the both of you talked to him and it all makes sense. You're both stupid, but I get it, okay? Just ... he's all messed up and it's been years and it's _really_ starting to annoy me. But that's why they're drunk, and he wouldn't stop talking, and now Finn's trying to tell him to go the whole nine yards and do all this romantic shit, but unlike brains over there I know how that guy works and it won't happen that way."

Rachel couldn't move. She and Santana had come to some sort of truce in high school, and once she and Finn had become a true couple Rachel had absolutely given them her blessings. She'd been flattered when Santana had asked her to be one of their child's grandparents, even though she had known that it was really Finn who had insisted. Where they stood now, she wasn't really sure, but she and the ex-cheerleader got along well enough.

This kind of phone call though? It was so completely out of the ordinary that it left Rachel stunned. Then of course there was the topic at hand, and if she hadn't already been sitting at her dinner table trying to finish a late meal, her legs probably would have buckled out from under her.

"Look, when you get home you gotta help him sort this shit out, okay? You two have got all this drama and history and it's gotta get out in the open so all of us can move on and stop tiptoeing around it. Anyway, that's all I called for, so I better go. See you when I see you, babe," and then she hung up. Just like that.

Pulling her mobile away from her ear, Rachel just stared at it numbly for a while before carefully placing it down on the table. Picking up her fork, she twirled the pasta around the tines, stabbed a piece of tomato, and took a mouthful, chewing slowly.

Her mind was blank, but whirling at the same time, as if she couldn't hold onto a thought long enough for it to become clear. It was like murky water, the sand at the bottom stirred up and making everything difficult to see. Eventually everything would clear and settle, but until then you just had to wait because trying to force the issue only made it worse.

Rachel dreaded the moment when her thoughts cleared, because she didn't know what she would be left with.

Time flew by, and soon she found herself locking her apartment door, pulling her luggage along behind her and catching the flight from New York to Ohio. The first few days are a bit of a blur as she settled into her fathers' house, into her old room, and made contact with everyone to let them know she was there. Quinn and Kurt came around to see her straight away of course, and if the two of them noticed how jumpy she was they didn't mention it. She went over to Tina's and the two of them gushed over her wedding photos, and if the girl noticed how quickly Rachel turned the page when photos of _him_ appeared, she didn't say anything.

She got enough of a look to see that nothing had changed though, and it made her stomach flutter.

Making plans to meet up for their big night out in two days time, Rachel left to go see Mercedes, and the two of them caught up over facials and manicures as promised.

She took a few presents over to Finn and Santana's house, delighting both son and dad with the miniature drum set she had bought for her grandson. Santana sent her a withering glare, but Rachel saw the way her lips kicked up into a smile when her baby boy belted out a couple of beats with his father on the living room floor.

A leather jacket that was _clearly_ too big for Finn hung over one of the kitchen chairs, and when Santana looked her way she shook her head. She didn't need to hear whose it was or when it had been left there.

Two days flew past, and Rachel looked at her reflection in her old bathroom mirror, nervously fluffing her hair one last time and applying another layer of lipstick before deciding that she was as ready as she would ever be. Collecting her bag and taking her phone off charge, she called out goodbye to her fathers and walked out the front door, meeting Quinn and Sam out in the driveway. Sam had graciously offered to drive them around that night, giving them the opportunity to drink themselves stupid before coming home and making out on his couch – and of course the two of them had promptly hit him in either shoulder, voicing their dislike of his plan.

Quinn watched as her friend's foot jiggled restlessly on the drive there, her features becoming more and more pinched the closer they got to their destination. Reaching out to cover Rachel's hand with her own, the blonde smiled reassuringly and suggested they start the night with some shots to really kick it off.

Sam begged to stay and watch and Rachel giggled quietly to herself as the other two argued the rest of the way there. It helped to distract her, and even though she felt sick to her stomach she agreed that a couple of shots would be wonderful. It might help settle her nerves.

Climbing out of the car, the two girls locked arms, waved goodbye to Sam, and pushed open the door of the pub. Mercedes and Tina waved them over instantly, saying that Mike was off sorting out a tab for them before he also left for the evening.

The jukebox was playing in the background, but the posters around the walls made Rachel acutely aware of the fact that _he_ wasn't far away.

Mike returned with arm bands for all of them and their first round of shots, and the girls grinned and thanked him loudly before he walked away, opening the door for Kurt as the shorter man arrived at the bar. Quickly beckoning him over so he could share in the first round, they all called cheers and threw back their shots, their faces varying from enjoyment to disgust at the taste.

Santana arrived with an excited Brittany in tow, announcing to one and all that 'You bitches need to carve up the dance floor with me'. The dance floor was really just an empty space in front of the bar, but no-one seemed to mind. Shaking her head, saying she was happy to stay and watch their bags and drinks, Rachel looked on as they all hurried over to the bar, giggling and shimmying around without a care in the world.

If any of them shot her any concerned or confused looks, she didn't see them.

A little while later, when the others were either in the bathroom, at the bar itself or still grinding around on the dance floor, Rachel glanced up as the table of girls next to her started giggling and whispering to each other. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but all of their eyes were fixed on a spot up ahead, and Rachel's turned to see what all the fuss was about.

A spotlight lit up the small stage, and people were milling about, checking their equipment and getting themselves settled for the night of entertainment ahead of them.

"Oh _God_ look at those arms."

"The arms? Girl, you need to pay attention when he starts playing. Those freaking _fingers_, oh good lord ..."

"Why does he always wear a shirt over those singlets? Take it off baby, I want to see more of you!"

Embarrassed at the things she was overhearing, Rachel had to be blind and stupid not to know who they were talking about. Her eyes had locked on him the moment he had walked onto the stage, guitar slung over his shoulder and his unmistakable swagger leading him over to the microphone.

"Evening everyone, just got a few more things to set up then we'll get right into it."

His voice. It was low, its tenor sliding over her skin and into her veins and warming her from the inside out. It had been so long, too long, since she had heard him let alone seen him, and she couldn't look away.

Further away at the bar, Kurt picked up two glasses and motioned for Quinn to head back to the table, but she grabbed his arm to stop him, looking from Rachel, to the stage, and back again. "Let's stay here for a bit," she requested, motioning with a nod of her head to what was happening back at their table.

Anyone could see the look of longing on that girl's face, and Quinn knew then that things were going to be interesting that evening. She was sure about one thing though, and that was that there was no way Rachel could leave tonight without at least speaking to him. He didn't even know they were there yet, too focussed on his work to pay attention to who was there that evening. It was probably a good thing no one had mentioned what night their little outing was going to be.

A drum beat filled the air, then the first strummed chord followed, and everyone stopped what they were doing to pay attention to the performers for a moment. Shifting and finally settling on the stool that had been set up for him, he lifted his gaze away from the guitar strings to face the microphone, taking a breath to begin the first line of the song.

As soon as his voice filled the pub, Rachel's eyes closed. She listened intently, following the cadence of his voice as it rose and fell with the music, automatically keeping time with her foot tapping on the floor, and she felt herself swaying in her seat as the music swept her away. They weren't singing anything original, or even a song that she particularly liked, but his voice made all those inconsequential things disappear and she lost herself.

This was always the life he had seen for himself. A deadbeat, working a few odd jobs for cash, getting by with just enough money in the bank to live by as he just existed, day to day. Playing his guitar if he had time, not bothering to regret what could have been if he applied himself just a little more. But Rachel didn't see that when her eyes fluttered open again and she gazed at him, ignoring the applause and just waiting for them to launch into another song.

No, she didn't see a Lima Loser. She saw a man who was _living_, embracing what life gave him and rolling with it, free of despair and disappointment, just being himself. He was back at the roots of music, performing and writing and enjoying the beauty that he created, doing what he loved – just playing.

She had something similar, but after all the work she had put in to make her dreams come true, Rachel thought that she wouldn't feel as hollow as she did.

Fulfilling your dreams wasn't anywhere near as exciting when you had no-one there to share your joy.

She sat alone at their table for a long time, not even realising that the others were staying away, allowing her time to absorb everything and hoping that she would come to her senses. Song after song played, some she knew and some she didn't, but she enjoyed every one of them. Hearing his voice as he announced them, listening to his reasons for choosing the song – whether they meant something to him or one of the other band members, or had been requested by someone the previous evening – made her feel closer to him than she had in years, and Rachel shook her head at how ridiculous she was being.

He was just singing on a stage! She had seen him to this hundreds of times back in school, it was nothing new. But it didn't need to be _new_, not when it was the first glimpse into his life that she'd had in years.

The last chord of the song rang out, and polite applause smattered across the room.

"This next one is something we've been working on pretty recently. If you were here at all in the last month you would've heard it a few times, but I'll play it again now for ya. This is for a special woman I used to know. She ..." he broke off then, and Rachel's eyes widened as she shifted forward in her seat. "She left a bit of a scar, and this is my tribute to her, so ..."

His fingers started plucking out a haunting tune, and when his voice filled the quiet bar she felt as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment.

_"I think you can do much better than me, after all the lies that I made you believe. The guilt kicks in and I start to see the edge of the bed where your nightgown used to be ..."_

The other singer joined in, and they kicked off into the bridge.

_"I told myself I won't miss you, but I remember what it feels like beside you."_

His words brought tears to her eyes, and she had to look away, just for a moment. His words were wrong, he was wrong, but hearing his thoughts expressed like this was undoing all the work she had put into pushing him aside for all these years. The girls at the table next to her were looking at him with pity, whispering naughty things to each other about how they wanted to help him mend his broken heart and forget the stupid girl he was singing about, and Rachel scoffed. This was _him_ they were talking about. She didn't doubt that the moment she left he had used many girls just like them to try and help forget about her.

That thought alone had already kept her awake for too many sleepless nights.

_"While looking through your old box of notes, I found those pictures I took that you were looking for ..."_

She thought back to a few weeks ago when she'd delved into her cupboard for that silly old box that held everything she had left of her time with him, and she smiled. The photo she had looked at danced through her mind, reminding her of the good times they used to have. It had been after graduation and they had all taken a trip down to the lake to just chill, hang out, and relieve the stress of the previous school year. While the others had been prancing about in the water, yelling and screaming and generally acting like the children they still were, the two of them had been lying in the back of his truck, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on her arm. Brittany had come bounding up the hill, camera in hand, and had wrenched the door open. Rachel had squealed in surprise, he had burst into laughter, and Brittany had forever captured one of the most contented moments of her life, saved on that glossy piece of paper sitting back home.

_"The bed I'm lying in is getting colder, wish I never would've said it's over, and I can't pretend I won't think about you when I'm older, 'cause we never really had our closure. This can't be the end."_

"I was here the other night," she finally heard one of the younger girls say, their voices growing louder as the music swelled. "He said it was about some girl he used to date, back when they were younger."

"Oh my god, that is _so_ cute!"

Straining to hear them, Rachel shifted her chair over slightly, leaning forward and trying to look like she wasn't eavesdropping on the table next to her.

"Yeah, like, it was some girl he went to high school with or something."

She had known. Of course she had known; she'd have to be dead not to realise. But hearing those girls confirm it made her breath hitch and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "Excuse me," she said, rudely interrupting their conversation, making the four girls turn and look at her. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but over hear ... do you know _who_ it is he's talking about?"

"Oh yes," one of the girls nodded enthusiastically, tossing her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder. "It was something starting with R. Rhonda ... Ruby ... Rochelle ...uh ..."

"Rachel?" She asked, looking from girl to girl.

"Yes, that's it!"

"Oh ... my ... god."

Startled, her gaze moved from the bubbly blonde to the red head at the opposite end of the table. The girl was open-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring at her as if she was a ghost. "Oh my freaking _God_!" She squealed, loud enough for some of the other nearby patrons to turn their way, frowning.

A final chord was struck, and there was a short moment of silence before the clapping started again, and Rachel jumped when the red head chose that moment to announce to the entire bar exactly what had her so shocked.

"You're Rachel Berry! You're Rachel fucking Berry! Oh my god, Liz, this is the theatre girl I've been telling you about! I went to see Wicked with my mother, and she was there, and now she's _here_, and oh my god it's you!"

Embarrassed at the attention this girl was drawing toward them, her eyes looked around the rest of the pub. Her friends were at the bar, giggling to themselves slightly, and she looked at them imploringly for some help. Her eyes then moved of their own accord, dragging her gaze over to the stage ... and to him.

Catching his eye, the two of them just stared at each other. The red head, the blonde, the other two girls at the table, the other patrons, even her own friends were forgotten. They all faded away, and everything was quiet, and all she could see were his eyes. She found herself on her feet, walking away from her fans without a word, her eyes focussing on only one thing. Puck made a quick apology to the crowd and put his guitar down, eyes only for her. He stepped off the stage as she crossed the make-shift dance floor, and neither of them could look away from each other. Sounds slowly filtered in, people moving about, talking, ordering drinks, and going about their lives as if something monumental wasn't happening just a few feet away from them. The band announced that they were taking a break, and the jarring music of the jukebox filled the room once more.

They met each other halfway.

Her eyes drank him in, looking from his closely shaved head to his familiar chiselled features, down those impressively broad shoulders and hard chest, covered by his casual uniform of a singlet and flannel shirt, then trailing the lines of his denim-cased legs. Her gaze slowly rose, unable to believe she was standing in front of him again after all this time, and she saw his eyes pull away from her body to meet hers.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered. In the din of the pub he shouldn't have been able to hear her, but with how focussed they were on each other it was no surprise that he picked up on every word.

"You wouldn't listen." He shrugged, just lightly, as if it wasn't a big deal, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, could see how his eyes flickered at the memories those words evoked.

"You said all those things, and I thought ... I thought ..." she couldn't keep going. His words, tied down in the dark for so long, sprang into her mind and she couldn't silence them. _'You'll never love me as much as your precious stage. I'll be here, tinkering away in a workshop somewhere while you're off wowing the world, and you won't even think of me. What's the point, Berry? You won't choose me, you might as well go!'_

"I was an idiot. I pushed you away because I figured if I did it then I wouldn't have to worry about you leaving me behind later on." Her word flashed through his mind, and he winced at how venomous she had sounded. _'Maybe I will! I'll forget about you, Noah Puckerman, and I'll live out my dreams just like I always wanted. Thank you for making this so clear for me, and so easy to do. This last year was fun, I guess, but who are we kidding, right? I'm leaving you for the stage, Noah, and that's that. This is over between us, and good riddance!'_

"But if you didn't mean it ..." she protested weakly, hurt and wondering why he never chased after her if he hadn't meant all those things he'd said.

He shrugged again, stepping forward to move out of the way of someone trying to get passed him, and in doing so he brought them even closer together. She could smell his cologne now, the scent weaving through her senses and cloaking her. But hidden in the scent was that inescapable musk, the one that was purely him, and she relished it. "You made your choice," he murmured. "I didn't think I stood a chance. I didn't _deserve_ a chance."

Tears prickled her eyes again, and she dashed them away angrily. "It wasn't really what I wanted," she confessed, relieved to finally be able to tell him that after all the years that had passed. "I thought I was doing the right thing, cutting myself off and moving on, but it wasn't ... and I couldn't ... and ... oh, _Noah_ ..."

The way she breathed his name set his blood to flame, and his already racing heart thumped loudly in his chest. "I've always said you needed to work on thinking less, _doing_ more."

She chuckled lightly at his words, remembering all the times he had said that to her, and knowing that he was, in fact, right. Brushing away the tears that trickled down her cheeks, she smiled tentatively at him and asked, "So, I shouldn't think right now?"

"Nope," he told her, stepped that little bit closer and looking down at her. "Just go with your gut. Or your heart. What're they telling you to do?"

Reaching out hesitantly, her hand hovering just an inch away from him, she then placed her palm against his chest, delighting in the feeling of warmth, and dragged it along the cloth of his shirt to tangle in the open collar. "To run away," she admitted softly, looking up at him. "They're telling me to run, to hide, to protect myself, to ... to apologise." She stepped in closer, their toes touching, the fabric of their clothes swishing and brushing, the rise and fall of his chest causing her hand to move, the gentle puff of his breath warming her face and swirling her fringe against her skin.

She was so close. He could touch her, and for once she wouldn't fade away as he woke from a dream or was pulled from his particularly vivid imagination. He could hold her, feel her skin, watch her laboured breathing and see her racing heartbeat pound against the delicate skin of her neck.

He'd never thought, when they told him that she was coming home, that he'd see her. He'd thought she'd avoid him, wanted her to avoid him, wanted to go on pretending that she hated him just so he had something to hang on to, a reason to keep away and not risk his heart again.

But he'd missed her. And now that he'd seen her, he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, the pad of his finger grazing against the soft skin of her cheek, he felt the shudder that trembled through her body to his bones.

"What's your heart _really_ telling you, Rach?" he whispered, all the world forgotten except the woman right in front of him.

She considered his question, weighed her answer against everything that she had been through in the last few years, and then threw all those thoughts out of her mind. She didn't care if too much time had passed.

He didn't care that too much had happened in all the years that had kept them apart.

Neither of them cared that everything had changed.

"This," she replied, pushing up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, the hand in his collar tightening and dragging his face down to hers. His arm swept around her, crushing her body against his, fusing them together, and suddenly it was like they were their teenage selves again.

Only different.

In the middle of the pub his hands roamed, tracing a body that had matured and grown, finding all new curves and arches that he was dying to explore.

Her other hand slid against the soft fabric of his clothes, marvelling at the hard plains she could feel underneath, mapping the muscles and flesh that had changed from what she remembered.

The girls and Kurt looked on from the bar, quietly cheering for their friends, congratulating themselves on a job well done until Santana let out a loud wolf-whistle and told the couple to get a room.

Rachel broke away from his embrace with an embarrassed laugh, but Noah didn't let her go far. Keeping one arm securely locked around her waist, he flipped off their group of friends and bent down to whisper in her ear, "Wanna get out of here?"

The implications of his question made her shiver, but despite his urgings to ignore her mind and listen to her heart, Rachel took a moment to really think about what was about to happen. "I'm only here for a week," she told him, wanting him to understand her hesitation. "Then it's back to New York, and … and my job." With how much pain Broadway had caused for the two of them, she barely even wanted to speak the word around him.

Noah was considering her words, searching her face for something, maybe some sign that things would be different, and she could only hold her breath as she waited. She left him, she left everything they had behind. This had to be his decision.

She just hoped she could live with the answer. Funny how only hours before she hadn't even dreamed of this happening.

But soon enough his broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, and he said, "We'll work something out."

A smile crossed her face, and he smiled in return. It would probably take a lot of hard work, and a lot of getting to know each other again.

But maybe they'd work something out. She hoped so.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ The song Puck sings is 'Better Than Me' by Hinder. Obviously he didn't write it._


End file.
